


Everything There is to Know

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Art collaboration, Bullying (mentioned), Cancer, Character Death, Coach/Player Relationship, F/M, Fanmix, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia (mentioned), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexuality Issues, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cesare watches Riccardo grow up from an insecure little boy into a self-assured young man. Cesare also watches his beloved wife fall sick and slowly wither away. Only with time does he realize the once so troubled boy has turned into his strongest pillar of support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything There is to Know

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Round 3 of [Futbal Mini-Bang](http://futbal-minibang.livejournal.com). 
> 
> First of all, I must thank [lunasenzanotte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte) for being my amazing partner in crime in Monto-ficcing, for putting up with me as her Minibang partner for the second time in a row – even when I decided to change stories in the middle – and for coming up with the beautiful fanmix (cover art and download link right below). Secondly, thank you [myconstant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/myconstant) for being my beta and my moral support throughout this round. It was a pleasure working with the both of you!

 

 

 

 

  
  


[Download Fanmix](http://www.mediafire.com/download/9bnepehi32i4o5v/Everything_There_is_to_Know.zip)

  
  
  
  
  
  
_February 1993_  
  
  
  
When Cesare first meets Riccardo at the Atalanta Youth Academy, the boy looks positively lost, aimlessly loitering around the corridor right outside the gym doors.  
  
Cesare thinks he looks much younger than could possibly be.  
  
Of course, he had heard of the new child prospect the club had brought in from Caravaggio – a young boy with a falsified registration, holding his own among teammates two years older than him – but still it is a surprise when he comes face to face with the kid in too large training clothes, all wide blue eyes and fluffy curls.  
  
“Are you lost, child?” Cesare asks carefully as the boy looks around the hallway, obviously uncertain if he is actually allowed to be here. “What are you looking for?”  
  
“I need a band-aid,” the boy answers in a small voice, looking down at his feet, and it is only now that Cesare realizes his knees are scraped and bloodied, “Practice starts soon, I should be out already.”  
  
He looks embarrassed, as if he is expecting Cesare to scold him for getting hurt. Cesare feels obliged to help him even though his own team’s training is just starting in the gym – he is sure his assistant can handle the warm-up and stretching.  
  
“Come here, we’ve got a first aid kit in the dressing room,” he tells the boy, touching his shoulder reassuringly and leading him along towards the  _Primavera_  locker rooms. “Don’t worry about practice, let’s just clean you up for now.”  
  
The boy follows him without question.  
  
“So, what’s your name? How old are you?” Cesare asks once he has located the first aid kit and sat the boy down, trying to distract him as he starts cleaning the cuts with a wet towel.  
  
“Riccardo.” The answer comes along with a soft sniffle, but Riccardo does not make any attempt to pull his legs away from Cesare’s reach. “Riccardo Montolivo. I just turned eight.”  
  
“I have a son just a bit older than you,” Cesare tells him with a smile, pouring disinfectant on a clean wipe, “He’d be bawling his eyes out if he’d hurt himself like this. You’re a brave little man, Riccardo.”  
  
Riccardo returns the smile hesitantly, but then he hisses in pain and jerks back as Cesare presses the wipe against his knee. Cesare can see that his eyes are glistening with unshed tears, but instead of letting them fall, Riccardo only bites his lip and looks at Cesare expectantly.  
  
“How did you hurt yourself?” Cesare asks carefully once the cuts are clean and ready to be bandaged. These kinds of things happen every day at the academy – even among the older players – but he must make sure that it was just an accident and not the older kids pushing the youngest one around.  
  
“I was just clumsy,” Riccardo answers with a shrug, carefully studying Cesare’s hands as he puts on the first band-aid, “I should’ve looked where I was going.”  
  
“Well, you’ll know to be more careful next time, right?” Cesare notes with a soft chuckle, covering the other knee as well before making sure he has not missed any other wounds on Riccardo’s legs.  
  
“Sure thing,” Riccardo replies immediately, swinging his legs in the air, like he is checking out Cesare’s handiwork, “Thanks, Mister!”  
  
He jumps off the chair and rushes out of the dressing room in a flurry. Cesare has to stop himself from yelling after him, because even though it appears to be only a matter of time before Riccardo takes another fall, Cesare realizes that nothing he can say or do will stop it.  
  
Cesare makes his way back to the gym where the Primavera boys are going through muscle building exercises. It seems like most of them have not even noticed their coach was missing.  
  
For a while he is thankful his job is to look after the teenagers rather than the children – his boys are almost adults, capable of taking care of themselves – but then there is a crash in the back of the gym and two boys are rolling on the floor in what looks like an impromptu wrestling match.  
  
Suddenly, Cesare is not so sure of his luck anymore.  
  
  
  
  
_January 1994_  
  
  
  
Riccardo is sitting on the fence, intently watching the first team’s practice. Cesare has told him many times before not to sit there – there are bleachers at the training grounds for a reason – but no matter how many times he is scolded, Riccardo just never learns.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be at school at this hour?” Cesare asks as he walks over, holding Riccardo’s gaze firmly until the boy takes the hint and jumps off the fence, “That’s better. Now, what’re you doing here?”  
  
“We got off early,” Riccardo says a bit too quickly, ducking his head to avoid Cesare’s searching gaze. “I wanted to see the first team in action. And you – you’re never around the academy anymore.”  
  
“That’s because I’m working with the first team now,” Cesare reminds him needlessly, nodding his head towards the men going through passing drills on the training pitch, “It’s a lot of responsibility, so I don’t have as much time to come see you anymore.”  
  
Riccardo pouts, even though they have had this same conversation numerous times since Cesare was appointed as the interim manager of the first team in November.  
  
“Today’s my birthday,” Riccardo reveals in a sullen voice, kicking the frozen ground in wordless protest, “You forgot, didn’t you?”  
  
“Really?” Cesare hacks his memory and realizes that yes, Riccardo did mention his birthday was coming up when Cesare last visited the youth academy a couple weeks back, “I’m sorry, Riccardo, it must’ve slipped my mind with the winter break ending and all.”  
  
Cesare is not quite sure how he has ended up as Riccardo’s ‘favourite uncle’ figure within the club in such a short time, but he is not complaining, or at least not all the time. Riccardo is around the same age as his own children after all, so it feels almost instinctive for Cesare to take care of him.  
  
“Okay, so how about you wait until the training is over and then we’ll have lunch together with the team?” Cesare suggests when Riccardo’s only reaction is to keep glaring at him, looking positively insulted, “I really am sorry – I promise I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
Riccardo’s face lights up, “Can I walk out onto the pitch with the captain during next weekend’s game?”  
  
Cesare lets out a surprised laugh, ruffling Riccardo’s hair gently, “I don’t make those decisions, but I’ll put in a good word for you, okay?”  
  
“Promise?” Riccardo asks with a wide smile – he is missing a few of his teeth, Cesare notices – his earlier disappointment all but gone.  
  
“Yes, I promise. Now go sit on the bleachers,” Cesare orders with a shake of his head, poking Riccardo on the back to make him move towards the designated area, “Or better yet, go inside and call your mother before someone starts wondering why you’re skipping school.”  
  
“I told her I was coming to see you!” Riccardo informs him happily, skipping off to the bleachers before Cesare can get another word edgewise. He makes a mental note to call Riccardo’s house himself, just to be on the safe side.  
  
“Who’s your friend, coach? Your son?” one of his players asks as Cesare rejoins them on the pitch to give instructions for the next drill.  
  
“Just a kid from the academy – I’ll let him handle the introductions once we’re done here,” Cesare replies with a shrug, his final tone keeping the players from asking any more questions. He is sure the ones promoted from his old Primavera squad will fill the rest in soon enough.  
  
Riccardo stays on the sidelines for the whole training, running around the bleachers and jumping up and down to keep himself warm. He beams at Cesare happily when the coach finally orders the players inside and walks over to him.  
  
“Now, give me your home number so I can call your mom,” Cesare tells Riccardo as they follow the squad inside the facilities, although they head for Cesare’s office instead of the dressing rooms.  
  
It turns out Riccardo really did have his mother’s permission to come see the first team – although she had been under an illusion that Cesare knew about it beforehand – so for that part, Cesare’s worry had been mostly uncalled for.  
  
“You can’t just go around doing whatever you want without considering the consequences,” Cesare berates him softly, but he cannot hold his smile as Riccardo skips ahead of him on their way to the dining room, humming some half-familiar tune under his breath.  
  
“But I missed you!” Riccardo declares, turning around to walk backwards, facing Cesare, “The academy isn’t half as fun without you.”  
  
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m your only friend here,” Cesare teases him with a low chuckle, “I’m just an old man – what fun would I be for you?”  
  
Riccardo is silent for a while, confusion flashing over his features, and for a second Cesare actually fears he hit the nail in the head with the comment he had only meant as a joke. Then Riccardo smiles again, hiding a giggle behind his hand, and tells Cesare: “You’re weird.”  
  
“Am I?” Cesare asks, jogging after Riccardo and ruffling his messy curls playfully, “I’m not the one skipping school just to spend time with the boring old me.”  
  
Unsurprisingly, Riccardo manages to charm the whole team within the first five minutes, babbling happily between mouthfuls of food, declaring it only a few years before he plays with the first team too.  
  
It is only after an impromptu rendition of the birthday song by the whole squad that Riccardo finally lets them focus on their meals. Unfortunately, Cesare is not that lucky.  
  
“You’re married, right?” Riccardo asks out of the blue, his eyes fixed on the wedding ring on Cesare’s finger.  
  
“Yes, I think we’ve established that a couple of times by now,” Cesare answers patiently. Riccardo’s curiosity seems endless – since they first got to know each other, he has asked Cesare about Manuela time and time again.  
  
“How’d you know she was the one?”  
  
“I just did,” Cesare states simply, twirling the pasta around his fork thoughtfully. “You’ll know it too, when you meet the right girl. But that’ll be a long time from now, I’m sure. No need to bother your head with it now.”  
  
“But  _how_  do I know? How is liking someone  _like that_  different from me liking my friends? What if I meet the one and never even notice?” Riccardo is whining now, his food completely forgotten.  
  
“Sounds like someone’s got a crush,” Cesare’s assistant comments dryly, not stopping despite earning an annoyed glare from Riccardo, “Is she pretty? Have you told her how you feel?”  
  
“It’s not like that!” Riccardo grumbles defiantly, but the teasing is enough for him to drop the subject and return to his meal.  
  
Cesare hides his smile into a mouthful of pasta. He silently wonders if his own generation had been this early to develop interest in the opposite sex –  _surely not_  – and makes a mental note to have the talk with Nicólo sooner rather than later. Just in case.  
  
With Riccardo, Cesare only opts to reassure him with another  _“Trust me, you will know”_  as he drops the boy off at the academy for his own practice session.  
  
  
  
  
_May 1997_  
  
  
  
When Cesare finally gets his coaching licence and an offer to coach the Lecce first team, he does not hesitate to take it, because as much as he loves Atalanta – as much as he loves coaching the youth players – his ultimate aim has always been higher.  
  
Manuela tells him to go for it, always the supporting presence in Cesare’s life, always knowing what is best for him even better than he does.  
  
They are looking for a house in southern Italy, somewhere nice where the children will have a chance to pursue their own interests and make new friends. The summer draws closer and the applications for new schools are ready to be sent out.  
  
But despite all the excitement for their new adventure, when Cesare finds Riccardo in his office eyes filled with tears, he almost cancels the move then and there.  
  
“What’s wrong, Riccardo? Aren’t you supposed to be in practice?”  
  
Riccardo avoids Cesare’s gaze, ducking his head down and trying to wipe his tears away with his sleeve. The effort is futile, though, because right then another sob escapes the boy’s lips.  
  
It is not the first time Cesare has seen Riccardo cry – he has always been sensitive, even though he has grown out of it somewhat during the years Cesare has known him – but as far as Cesare knows, it is the first time Riccardo has ever skipped training if he could help it.  
  
“Come here,” Cesare tells him softly, sitting down on the couch in the corner of the office, patting the empty space next to him, “Just cry all you want. And then you can tell me everything.”  
  
Riccardo hesitates for a moment, but in the end follows Cesare’s lead, sitting down and even accepting the handkerchief Cesare offers to him. He does not say a word, looking embarrassed to be upset in front of Cesare like this.  
  
There used to be a time when Riccardo would cling to Cesare for comfort, but it seems like he is too old for those antics now – twelve years of age and just about to hit his next growth spurt, making him look gangly and uncomfortable in his own body.  
  
Cesare waits patiently. Riccardo would not have come to him if he did not want to talk, so the only thing he can do is to give the boy some space, let him find the words on his own.  
  
“It’s stupid,” Riccardo mumbles quietly after a while, wiping his eyes furiously to stop the traitorous tears from rolling down his cheeks, “I haven’t even done anything to them. It’s not fair.”  
  
“What’s not fair?” Cesare urges gently when he realizes that is the only thing Riccardo has to say.  
  
Riccardo blows his nose and takes a deep breath, visibly collecting himself. He shrugs as he answers, “It’s nothing. It was just a stupid prank. Sorry to bother you.”  
  
“Riccardo,” Cesare says in his most commanding voice when the boy stands up abruptly, getting ready to leave, “What did they do to you? You obviously want to tell me, so why not just spit it out?”  
  
“You’ll laugh at me…” Riccardo grumbles, but sits back down nonetheless.  
  
“I won’t. I promise.”  
  
Riccardo is biting his lip to stop it from trembling and he is still refusing to look Cesare in the eye, but he says, “There’s this boy. He’s playing for the Milan youths. I— I think I like him?”  
  
Cesare is left speechless – handling children’s sexual awakening is not something they teach in coaching courses and also not something that has come up with his own kids – but Riccardo looks so vulnerable and  _scared_  that it does not even cross Cesare’s mind to question his feelings.  
  
“Have you told him how you feel?” he asks instead, reaching out to wipe a stray tear from Riccardo’s cheek, “Was that why you were crying? Or did you say something to your teammates?”  
  
“I didn’t tell anyone!” Riccardo snaps sharply, jerking back from Cesare’s touch like it burns him, “They just figured it out. And then someone sent a letter to him with my name on it and now  _everybody knows_.”  
  
“And they’re making fun of you because of it,” Cesare concludes for him, trying to keep his tone calming as fresh tears start gathering in Riccardo’s eyes, “Is that boy making fun of you, too? What did he say when he got the letter?”  
  
“I don’t know, I haven’t talked to him,” Riccardo whispers, glancing sideways at Cesare, “They told me I can’t play football if I’m gay. That I should go play with the girls instead.”  
  
“That’s nonsense!” Cesare scoffs, anger accidentally slipping into his voice, but Riccardo actually tries to smile at his outburst so Cesare figures it might have been the right call after all. “I’ll have a word with your coach, okay? Tell him to have a talk with the rest of the team.”  
  
Riccardo looks down at his hands, biting his lip again. “Can you just— not tell him what I told you? Pretend it’s all just stupid rumours. I just want this to go away.”  
  
Cesare remembers hearing numerous sermons on why being homosexual is a sin that should not be tolerated. He also remembers Manuela scoffing at these prejudices, saying love is love no matter what shape it takes. Cesare prefers his wife’s approach.  
  
“You do know liking boys is not wrong, don’t you?” he asks softly, brushing his fingers over Riccardo’s shoulder but careful not to intrude on his personal space more than that. “It doesn’t stop you from playing football – and it definitely doesn’t make you any less of a man.”  
  
“You really think so?”  
  
There is so much barely veiled hopefulness in Riccardo’s voice that Cesare has no other option but to smile and nod, “I know so. You can be whatever you want to be, Riccardo. I can tell your coach your teammates were spreading baseless rumours about you, as long as  _you_ remember the truth – that they’re the ones in the wrong, not you.”  
  
“Thanks,” Riccardo whispers, meeting Cesare’s eyes, a hesitant smile lingering on his lips, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re gone next season.”  
  
“You just stay strong and kick their butts until they have no choice but to accept you’re better than them,” Cesare tells him with a smile of his own, finally daring to push a strand of Riccardo’s hair behind his ear, “And you have my number: you can call me whenever you like.”  
  
“They’re already calling me the teacher’s pet, though,” Riccardo notes sardonically, but now the playful tone he usually uses with Cesare is back. “Can’t come crying to you every time I’m in trouble, right?”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Cesare assures him easily, “It’ll be lonely in Lecce, without my little blue-eyed shadow.”  
  
“I’m not little,” Riccardo grumbles and ducks his head out of Cesare’s reach when he tries to ruffle his hair, fixing his unruly curls instinctively, “Stop treating me like a child.”  
  
“You are a child,” Cesare reminds him with a laugh, before straightening his face again. “So, the boy in Milan, do you think he might like you too? Or is it just a one-sided fancy?”  
  
“I don’t know. I thought he might – he’s always nice to me – but then the guys found out and sent the letter so…” Riccardo purses his lips in annoyance, playing with the hem of his shirt nervously.  
  
“Well, maybe you should ask him? At least to clear up the misunderstanding, if nothing else.”  
  
Cesare cannot believe he is actually giving relationship advice to a 12-year-old. But then again, Manuela had been only a few years older when Cesare first met her, so he is not really one to judge.  
  
“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that,” Riccardo replies softly. “He gave me his number last time I saw him. He said maybe we could hang out sometime...”  
  
When Cesare parts with Riccardo later to have a word with his coaching colleague, he feels a bit more assured that the boy will be fine, even if Cesare is not there to watch over his every step.  
  
As long as Riccardo survives the excitement of his first date with this mysterious Milan boy, that is.  
  
  
  
  
_March 2001_  
  
  
  
Riccardo calls Cesare on the first day Manuela is back home after her operation.  
  
“How is she?” is the first thing he asks.  
  
Cesare does not remember telling Riccardo about his wife’s illness, let alone the operation, but he is not exactly surprised – the word travels fast and Riccardo has always been good at finding the truth among a flood of rumours.  
  
“She’s recovering fine and mostly just happy to be back home with the kids,” Cesare answers quietly, because Manuela is sleeping in the room next door. “The doctors are optimistic too – we were lucky they caught it early.”  
  
“That’s good,” Riccardo says, lowering his own voice as if to mirror Cesare’s, “And you, are you okay?”  
  
Cesare has not slept since Manuela’s operation, the bed feeling too cold and empty without her next to him. It is an immense relief to have her back – they have not spent more than a few days apart ever since they first met as teenagers.  
  
“I’m fine. I need to be strong for her sake as well,” Cesare sits down and takes a deep breath, holding back the yawn that tries to push its way out of his chest. “How are  _you_  doing? It’s been a while since we last talked. Did you make up with that boy – what was his name again – Alessandro?”  
  
“You’re really out of it, aren’t you?” Riccardo is obviously holding back a laugh – he sounds so normal, it actually makes Cesare feel much better for some reason – “I broke up with Ale ages ago. I told you that, didn’t I?”  
  
“Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind,” Cesare apologises with a soft chuckle. For once he feels like he actually has an excuse for his absentmindedness. “So, is there anyone else? Or are you finally focusing on football and school, as you should be?”  
  
Riccardo huffs out a laugh, staying silent for a while before admitting, “There’s this one guy on the team that I might like. Giampi. He’s really nice and we’ve spent lots of time together lately. But he’s got a girlfriend so I obviously have no chance with him.”  
  
“Well, you can’t always get what you want, right? It might not seem like that now, but you’ll probably be happy to have him as a friend once the feelings cool down.” Cesare does his best to sound comforting even though he can hear from Riccardo’s voice that he is not actually that upset about his one-sided crush.  
  
“No, I’m happy even now,” Riccardo pipes in quickly, “Training’s been much more fun since he joined the team. He’s got my back, too, when the other guys decide to start acting like jerks.”  
  
“They’re not bullying you, right? Remember you can go talk to your coach if there’s any trouble,” Cesare reminds him gently because even after all these years, this is the one topic Riccardo is always reluctant to talk about.  
  
“Stop assuming the worst, Cesare,” Riccardo tells him softly, “I’m fine. You know I’d tell you if things got bad again.”  
  
“Would you?”  
  
“ _Yes!_  Now stop worrying about me when it’s your wife who needs your care.”  
  
Cesare can hear the front door opening as Carolina comes home from school, calling for her parents from the hallway. Cesare takes it as a sign that he should be ending the phone call.  
  
“Fine, I’ll go take care of her now. You better not be slacking off with schoolwork again, you hear me?”  
  
“I never do,” Riccardo argues playfully, “and you should give me more credit – my coach told me I might be called up for the Under-16 national team soon. You don’t get that by slacking off.”  
  
“Football isn’t schoolwork, though,” Cesare notes with a chuckle, “but I’m proud of you, Riccardo: you deserve that call-up.”  
  
“I know,” Riccardo’s smug tone sounds only half-exaggerated. “I’ll call you again sometime. Tell Manuela I wish her a speedy recovery, okay?”  
  
Carolina is with her mother when Cesare walks back into the bedroom. Manuela offers him a tired smile as he helps her to sit up on the bed, “How’s Riccardo, dear? He calls you so rarely these days – I thought puberty got the best of him.”  
  
“Good as ever. He wished you a speedy recovery.”  
  
“He’s such a sweetheart,” Manuela smiles, wrapping her arm around Carolina’s shoulders when she scoots closer to sit next to her on the bed. She looks much healthier than she did back at the hospital, the effect of  _home_  never to be underestimated.  
  
“That he is,” Cesare agrees, pressing a kiss on Manuela’s chapped lips. After weeks of constant worrying, he just feels lucky to still have her by his side.  
  
  
  
  
_September 2004_  
  
  
  
Contrary to popular belief, it had been an easy choice for Cesare to hand in his resignation the moment Manuela’s illness relapsed. No, it was no choice at all, because his wife’s health always comes first – always.  
  
“Gentile called Riccardo up for the Under-21 team,” Cesare tells Manuela as they leave the hospital after another round of chemotherapy. “He must be ecstatic, to be called up at only nineteen – he gets to play with Pazzini, too.”  
  
He is mostly talking to keep his wife’s thoughts off the hospital visit. The side effects of the intensive treatment are already showing and they both know it is only going to get worse from here.  
  
“That’s great,” Manuela replies with an exhausted smile, looking genuinely happy for Riccardo. She squeezes Cesare’s hand with her own, as if to reassure him that she is not going anywhere. “You should call and congratulate him. I’m sure he’d be happy to hear from you.”  
  
To be honest, Cesare has been half-expecting Riccardo to call him, just like he had when Manuela first became sick and then whenever a new complication had arisen. But this time there has been no word from him, not even after Cesare’s resignation was widely covered in the media.  
  
“I’ll send him a message when we get home,” he assures Manuela as they get into the car and drive out of the hospital parking lot. “I bet he’s busy getting ready for the match.”  
  
“Maybe, but he’d still like to know you’re paying attention to his career,” Manuela notes, splaying her hand over Cesare’s on the gearstick and caressing his knuckles gently. “It won’t do for you to throw away everything else in your life because of me. What’re you going to do once I’m healthy again and you have no friends left?”  
  
Deep down, Cesare knows she is right: Riccardo has been one of the few constants in his life over the past decade – as silly as it sounds when he has never even coached him – and he has grown to care too much about the boy to push him away now.  
  
On the other hand, Cesare is scared – scared that Manuela is wrong, that there will never be a time when she is completely healthy again. He wants to treasure every moment he has with his wife, even if it means putting his other relationships on hold.  
  
“You call him my friend? He’s just a child,” Cesare comments dryly to hide his silent doubts, turning his hand to allow Manuela to intertwine their fingers again.  
  
“What else would you call him? You’re neither his relative nor his coach. And nineteen is hardly a child, dear: he’s right on the verge of adulthood, just like your own son.”  
  
Manuela has always been the voice of reason in Cesare’s life.  
  
He sends a message to Riccardo when they get home, while Manuela retires into the bedroom to collect some of her energy before Carolina comes home from school.  
  
_”Congratulations on your call-up, I’m sure you’ll do great. Next step: Gli Azzurri! – Cesare”_  
  
Cesare stares at the text for a while and then adds Manuela’s name at the end too. It was her idea to contact Riccardo, after all.  
  
He has only managed to set the phone down when it buzzes for a new message.  
  
_”Thanks! How are you holding up?”_  
  
Cesare stares at the screen, wondering what he is supposed to answer: tired, exhausted, drained, scared, terrified, petrified, hopeless, useless…  
  
It has been only a week since they started this new treatment. Cesare is embarrassed to admit even to himself how much it has affected him when he is supposed to be the strong one, Manuela’s rock during the hard times.  
  
_”Manuela’s fighting. She’ll make it through, like she always does.”_  
  
There is no immediate answer, so Cesare leaves the phone and follows Manuela into the bedroom, curling up next to her, kissing her hair, watching over her as she sleeps off the after effects of the treatment. It is all he can do for now: be there for her every step of the way.  
  
He sees Riccardo’s reply only hours later:  _”That’s not what I asked and you know it.”_  
  
Cesare has no energy to argue the point – mostly because he knows Riccardo is right – so he lets the message go unanswered for now.  
  
He only realizes he never answered the message a couple days later when he reads from the paper that the  _Azzurrini_  had beaten Norway and Riccardo had played the whole game.  
  
  
  
  
_August 2005_  
  
  
  
The first thing Cesare does when he accepts Fiorentina’s job offer is to ask the Della Valle brothers to make an offer for Riccardo.  
  
He tells himself that it is a rational request: Riccardo has made a name for himself on Atalanta first team since his debut two seasons ago and it is only a matter of time before some other club will come asking for him.  
  
He assures his bosses it is a good deal – that they will not regret it, that Riccardo will be an irreplaceable asset for them for many years to come.  
  
But of course, deep down, it is a sentimental decision on Cesare’s part, because this is his first realistic chance to coach Riccardo. Luckily for him, Fiorentina has close ties with Atalanta after signing Pazzini only half a year earlier, so the new transfer is in the making in no time.  
  
When Riccardo arrives at the Fiorentina training grounds only days later, Cesare is taken by surprise over how much he has grown since the last time they saw each other face to face.  
  
"When did you get this tall?" Cesare asks with a hearty laugh when Riccardo wastes no time, unexpectedly showing up at the training pitches and pulling Cesare into a tight hug. Gone is the self-conscious teenager, now replaced by an effortlessly affectionate young man. "I guess I need to stop calling you 'little' now?"  
  
“I thought I told you to stop saying that years ago,” Riccardo retorts as he releases his hold on Cesare and meets his eyes squarely. “Thank you, Cesare. For bringing me here.”  
  
“That’s ‘Coach Prandelli’ to you now,” Cesare laughs and pats Riccardo’s cheek in a fatherly gesture, “and I did nothing – you’ve impressed the club management on your own.”  
  
_‘Liar,’_  Riccardo mouths at him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with laughter.  
  
“Oh, and Manuela told me to invite you to our house for dinner later this week. She seems worried you’ll feel lonely, all alone in the new city,” Cesare adds, ignoring Riccardo’s accusation.  
  
“You sure it’s not you who’s worried?” Riccardo is smiling cheekily now, his lower lip caught between his teeth and one eyebrow raised.  
  
“It’s good to have you on the team, Riccardo. Now go say hi to your friend – he’s been asking for you the whole morning,” Cesare says with another chuckle, nodding his head towards the pitch where Pazzini is looking about ready to rush over to them to welcome Riccardo himself.  
  
“Sure thing, Coach,” Riccardo replies easily. He hugs Cesare one more time before he skips over to the rest of the squad, throwing himself into Pazzini’s arms with such force that he almost knocks the both of them to ground.  
  
Cesare has an inkling feeling that his sentimentality will come back to bite him in the ass someday, but for now he just lets himself be happy that his young friend is finally back in his life.

 

 

_May 2007_  
  
  
  
The training drags on and on, but Cesare’s mind barely registers what the squad is doing, relying on his assistant to do most of the actual coaching.  
  
He cannot concentrate, his mind drifting off to Manuela who has been hospitalized for almost a week now. He has not slept at all since she was taken to the intensive care over the weekend, while Cesare had been busy overlooking his team’s league game.  
  
He snaps at one of the players for making a minor mistake, reprimanding him to work harder or not to come to practice at all. He then apologizes right away when he notices the disapproving look Riccardo is giving him a few meters away.  
  
After what feels like an eternity, the practice match finally comes to an end and the squad moves to stretching.  
  
Cesare takes the chance to leave the pitch, giving Gabriele some final instructions on how to finish up the session – although his assistant obviously knows what he is doing, considering that he has been the one taking care of the training for days now.  
  
He has to lean on his desk for support when he makes it into his office. His hands are shaking – from the stress or the exhaustion, he is not sure anymore – and his breath feels like it is stuck in his throat.  
  
He has not cried even once. He cannot afford showing that weakness, not when Manuela needs him at his strongest.  
  
He does not notice Riccardo entering the room before he closes the door behind himself, deliberately loudly, startling Cesare out of his thoughts.  
  
Riccardo is still in his training attire, sweaty hair glued to his scalp and face flushed from the earlier match. He looks like he probably left the training right after Cesare, skipping the stretching and cooling down in favour of following him.  
  
“What’s wrong?” a simple question, no beating around the bush, “You’ve been out of it for the whole week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Cesare. What’s happened? Is it Manuela?”  
  
Riccardo never calls Cesare by his first name when they are in the club premises. It underlines how seriously he is taking the situation, despite being unaware of what is really going on.  
  
“The cancer’s spreading again. It’s hit her liver – she’s been in the hospital since last weekend,” Cesare would be proud of how steady he is able to keep his voice were it not for the traitorous tears stinging his eyes when he meets Riccardo’s shocked gaze.  
  
“But— I thought she was in remission? That she was getting better?” Riccardo is stumbling over his words, the helpless look crossing over his face mirroring how Cesare is feeling. “It’ll be alright, right? Just like all the other times.”  
  
“There’s nothing they can do,” Cesare whispers, shaking his head weakly. “It’s spread too far. The doctors said reducing the pain is all they can do now – that it’s only a matter of time before she—”  
  
His voice breaks before he can finish the sentence and the tears slip down his cheeks without his permission. It feels like all of Cesare’s worst nightmares are coming true and he feels absolutely lost, powerless against the tricks of fate.  
  
Riccardo’s eyes are darting around the room helplessly – he is obviously as unused to these kinds of situations as Cesare is – but finally he makes a decision and walks over to Cesare, guiding him to the office chair and forcing him to sit down.  
  
“Can I get you something? Water? Something stronger?” Riccardo asks softly, rubbing his palm against Cesare’s shoulder. He looks uncertain whether he should be touching Cesare, like he is afraid that just one wrong move could make everything worse.  
  
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without her,” Cesare grits out, his voice trembling so badly that Riccardo probably cannot even understand him. “It’s always been the two of us. She means  _everything_  to me.”  
  
He takes hold of Riccardo’s hand when he tries to pull away, an instinctive need to grasp onto something as the tears start blurring his vision. He cannot even see Riccardo’s face anymore when he turns to look up at him.  
  
“I feel like such a failure, Riccardo,” Cesare admits quietly, fondling Riccardo’s hand between his, “She’s in so much pain and I can do nothing to make it go away. This time I can’t even tell her it’ll get better, because it won’t.”  
  
“You can be there by her side,” Riccardo replies, lifting his other hand to stroke the back of Cesare’s neck gently, “Trust me, it’s all she’s ever asked from you – it’s all she needs right now.”  
  
Riccardo pulls Cesare’s face against his chest and wraps his arms around Cesare’s shoulders awkwardly, and Cesare finally breaks down, violent sobs shaking his whole body and tears staining Riccardo’s shirt. His own arms are wrapped around Riccardo’s waist, clinging to him, keeping him close.  
  
Cesare has no idea how long they stay that way before he finally feels ready to let go. Riccardo says nothing when Cesare releases his hold, only turning around to give Cesare the moment of privacy he so desperately needs.  
  
Cesare can swear he sees Riccardo wiping away his own tears with the back of his hand when he thinks Cesare is not looking, but he decides not to comment on it – Manuela has been looking after Riccardo ever since he first moved to Florence, so her sickness would obviously hurt him as well.  
  
“You should go to the hospital, to stay with her,” Riccardo says softly when Cesare has collected himself. “I can drive you – you’re obviously in no condition to do it yourself – just give me a minute to get changed, okay?”  
  
He slips out of the office without another word, not even waiting for Cesare’s answer. It is probably because he knows Cesare would argue the suggestion if given the chance to do it. Cesare is silently thankful for it.  
  
The ride to the hospital passes in silence. Riccardo only meets Cesare’s eyes when they are in front of the doors.  
  
“Tell her—” Riccardo starts but bites back whatever he is about to say, “Just, take care of her. And remember I’m here if you ever need a shoulder to cry on. Or a chest, or anything, really. Just call me anytime you need me.”  
  
“Thank you, Riccardo,” Cesare interrupts just as Riccardo looks as if he is about to say something else. Riccardo looks almost relieved when Cesare climbs out of the car and waves him a quick goodbye.  
  
Cesare, on the other hand, feels like he is at least a little bit more ready to face his wife in the hospital bed, and it is all thanks to Riccardo.  
  
  
  
  
_November 2007_  
  
  
  
Cesare returns to work only two days after the funeral, mere four days after Manuela passed away.  
  
He tells himself it is because he has a duty to his squad – an obligation to lead them to the best possible results, regardless of the circumstances – but, deep down, he knows he is only working because if he stopped, he would not be able to pick himself up again.  
  
He cannot go home, into the empty house where everything reminds him of Manuela. Until now, he has spent his nights at Carolina’s flat in central Florence, but even there the pain does not stop – seeing his daughter every day, recognizing the features of her mother in her. It is all too much to bear.  
  
So Cesare goes back to work, where he can focus all his efforts on the team, preparing for the next league match. If he concentrates hard enough, he can actually forget for a moment that Manuela will not be there waiting for him when he gets home.  
  
He has no idea what he is supposed to do with himself now, so he just goes through the familiar motions without giving it too much thought. He feels like a large part of himself died with his wife – like he is a dead man walking.  
  
Riccardo is waiting for Cesare in his office when he returns from the day’s only training session. Cesare cannot say he is particularly surprised to find him there, even though all the starters from the previous night’s match against Athens – including Riccardo – had been given a day off.  
  
Still, the mere sight of Riccardo lounging on his office couch makes Cesare stop in his tracks.  
  
He has been avoiding Riccardo for the whole week: cutting their phone calls short, telling him over and over again not to come over, only exchanging a few words at the funeral before leaving him with his teammates.  
  
It is not because Cesare does not want to see him, but because he has never been able to separate his work from his private life with Riccardo. Around Riccardo, Cesare cannot keep pretending that everything is alright, that he did not just lose the single most important person in his entire life.  
  
“How are you?” Riccardo asks quietly, standing up and walking over to Cesare, stopping only a few steps away from him, as if sensing the invisible barrier Cesare has built around himself.  
  
“Sorry, that was a stupid question,” Riccardo whispers when Cesare cannot bring himself to say anything. “There’s no way you’d be fine, right? You look like shit.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be here,” Cesare finally grits out, the words getting stuck in his throat.  
  
He feels like he cannot breathe, the memories of Manuela’s last moments flashing through his mind – he had stayed by her side until the very end, kept talking to her even after she stopped breathing, clinging to the faintest hope that she could still hear him.  
  
“Neither should you,” Riccardo retorts in a quiet but firm voice, holding Cesare’s gaze resolutely. “You’re in no shape to work, Cesare. You should be home with your children.”  
  
“I can’t,” Cesare states simply – the truth – and then he pushes his way past Riccardo, walking over to the couch and sinking down on it, energy draining out of his body as the sorrow takes a hold of him again. “I can’t look at them. I keep seeing her. It hurts too much.”  
  
“I know,” Riccardo’s tone is much gentler now as he follows Cesare and sits down next to him, their shoulders brushing against each other, “And I get it: you need to keep yourself moving – as long as you’re busy, you’ll have no time to think or  _feel_.”  
  
He sounds like he wants to say something more, but instead he just leans his head on Cesare’s shoulder and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Somehow, it feels like Riccardo is lending him strength by simply being there.  
  
“She told me to keep going forward, no matter how difficult it felt at first,” Cesare mumbles, more to himself than to Riccardo, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the floor. “I know I can’t keep hiding forever, but I don’t know what else to do. So I just keep working, because that’s all I have left – it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”  
  
Riccardo hums in understanding, shifting against Cesare’s side to find a more comfortable position before answering with words, “You’ll do what you need to do. One step at a time. And I’ll be right here in case you need me, just like you’ve always been there for me.”  
  
“You don’t have to.”  
  
“I want to.”  
  
They need no words after that. They simply sit there in complete silence, the steady physical contact more comforting than any condolences Cesare has received since Manuela passed away.  
  
  
  
  
_June 2008_  
  
  
  
Cesare is selling the house.  
  
It is the rational choice, he keeps telling himself. The house is too big for him, even if he could get over all the memories associated with every room, every surface, every piece of furniture.  
  
As things stand, he has barely stepped inside since Manuela’s death. He is living in a rented apartment close to the Fiorentina training facilities, where he has been able to process his loss in peace, without every single thing around the place reminding him of Manuela’s last few months.  
  
He had kept putting off a final decision on the house until the season ended – fourth place in the league and the Champions League qualification had been more than anyone could have hoped for – but once the summer break started, there had been no more excuses.  
  
Nicólo and Carolina had been against selling at first, reluctant to give up the place where their mother had spent the last years of her life. However, they had ultimately agreed it was Cesare’s decision, and with time he had come to realize he would never be able to move on unless he went through with it.  
  
He had not realized that selling the house would also mean sorting through and packing up all of Manuela’s belongings until it was too late.  
  
“Those boxes won’t fill themselves on their own no matter how long you keep staring at them.”  
  
Cesare startles out of his thoughts when Riccardo walks into the bedroom without so much as knocking first. He is carrying a bottle of red wine – Manuela’s favourite brand – and two glasses Cesare is sure he had already packed the day before.  
  
“Carolina called me,” Riccardo explains when he notices Cesare’s stunned expression, “She told me you’ve been locked in here for two days without opening even one of Manuela’s drawers. I figured you could use some moral support.”  
  
He sets the glasses on the nightstand – that tabletop used to be filled with Manuela’s medicine – and moves to open the bottle. Cesare wants to tell him to stop, because drinking in the room where Manuela passed away feels disrespectful, wrong.  
  
He cannot find the right words, so he ends up just watching as Riccardo pours wine into the glasses and hands one of them to Cesare.  
  
“This doesn’t feel right,” Cesare says softly even as he accepts the offered glass, staring down at the red liquid thoughtfully.  
  
“What, don’t tell me you never had wine in bed?” Riccardo jokes lightly, picking up his own glass from the nightstand. Then his expression turns more serious, “Cesare, you’re selling the house because you can’t handle the painful memories. I get it. But you still need closure, and the best way to do that is to focus on the good times.”  
  
Riccardo lifts the glass gingerly, waiting for Cesare to do the same before saying softly, “To Manuela. And to all the beautiful years you spent together.”  
  
The familiar taste of the wine feels like a warm breeze washing over him – a happy memory from their wedding reception and all of the anniversaries since then – and for once Cesare does not feel like crying as he remembers Manuela’s beautiful smile over the rim of her glass.  
  
“Thank you, Riccardo,” he says quietly, taking another sip from the glass. He looks up and meets Riccardo’s smiling blue eyes looking right back at him.  
  
“You would’ve done the same for me,” Riccardo replies, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his tone turning impish as he continues, “and now I’m going to sit here and finish up my bottle of wine while you sort through those drawers and tell me every single happy story you can remember from over the course of your marriage.”  
  
“Have you always been this pushy?” Cesare asks with a surprised laugh. “Why’d Carolina even call you? Shouldn’t you be training for the Olympics?”  
  
“I think I’m your only friend whose number she has,” Riccardo answers with a shrug, trying to look nonchalant even though his eyes are laughing. “And the Olympics are still two months away, I’m allowed to have a little break in the meantime.”  
  
“If you weren’t gay I might be worried for her,” Cesare mutters, shaking his head. But Riccardo’s presence has done the trick: Cesare’s mind is the clearest it has been in days as he opens the first drawer and gets to work.  
  
True to his words, Riccardo does not try to interfere with his task. Instead, he merely watches Cesare’s turned back and sips his wine, asking idle questions about Manuela every few minutes. Cesare is actually thankful for it, because this is something he needs to do by himself – it is the reason he had not let Carolina help him either.  
  
“You know, Manuela asked me to look after you,” Riccardo says suddenly, as Cesare is about to move on to the wardrobe, “Back in October, when she was still feeling relatively well. She told me I was the only one stubborn enough not to take ‘no’ for an answer from you.”  
  
“She always was more worried about me than herself,” Cesare muses out loud as he turns to face Riccardo.  
  
“She loved you. She didn’t want to leave you behind without knowing for sure you’d be able to carry on without her,” Riccardo counters. He fills Cesare’s glass again before patting the mattress next to him, “Sit with me for a bit?”  
  
Cesare sits down hesitantly, taking the glass from the nightstand. The bottle next to it is almost empty.  
  
“I asked you once how you knew she was the one,” Riccardo says with a nostalgic smile, “Remember? It was when I skipped school to come see you and the first team.”  
  
Cesare remembers, albeit shakily, because they used to have those kinds of conversations all the time. Sometimes it still surprises him how much Riccardo has grown since those days.  
  
“You told me I’d know when I met the right person,” Riccardo continues, twirling the last drops of wine at the bottom of his glass, “I still don’t know how it  _feels_. But watching you and Manuela – I kind of understood what it could mean: finding that person, someone who makes you whole. You were lucky to have her.”  
  
Riccardo is looking at Cesare almost sadly now, unshed tears shimmering in his eyes. He still smiles, though, when their arms brush together. It is the same comfortable closeness that kept Cesare from going insane in the months following Manuela’s death.  
  
“I was the luckiest,” Cesare agrees softly, lifting his hand to caress the back of Riccardo’s neck comfortingly, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Sometimes I forget how young you still are. I’m sorry for being such a burden to you.”  
  
“I’m not that young,” Riccardo argues quietly, but lets Cesare pull him into a gentle hug nonetheless.  
  
  
  
  
_May 2010_  
  
  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me you were negotiating with the FIGC?” Riccardo’s tone is not quite accusing, although he does burst into Cesare’s apartment with slightly more force than usual. “It sucks reading news like that from the papers – we’re supposed to be friends!”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Cesare apologizes as he closes the door behind Riccardo. “I meant to tell you, but you’ve been so focused on the national team and I didn’t want to distract you with the World Cup coming up and everything.”  
  
Cesare is not being fully honest – the national team head coach job has been on the table for weeks now, so if he had wanted to tell Riccardo, he would have had more than enough time to tell him before the season ended.  
  
“You know I wouldn’t be distracted by something like that,” Riccardo takes a deep breath, visibly calming down, his features softening. “It’s a relief, actually, to know I’ll still have you around next season, even if it’s not every day.”  
  
Cesare is not actually worried about Riccardo being against taking the job. They are both professionals capable of making their own career decisions, after all.  
  
What worries him is how dependent he has become on Riccardo’s support ever since Manuela’s death – it has been two and a half years and Cesare has yet to make a major decision without having Riccardo right by his side every step of the way.  
  
This is the one step he wants to take on his own.  
  
“It’s a big change, though. It’s been five years since we came to Fiorentina – it’ll take a while to get used to the idea of it ending,” Cesare muses as he ushers Riccardo out of the small lobby and into the living room, “But you’re right, I still should’ve told you.”  
  
They sit down on the couch. Riccardo’s eyes are fixed on Cesare, studying his expressions just like he always does. “Is it official, then? You’re taking the job?”  
  
“Nothing’s official until it’s official,” Cesare shrugs with a half-smile, “But yes, it’s all but done. They’ll probably make the announcement during the training camp next week – so this time you’ll definitely be the first to know.”  
  
“I guess congratulations are in order then? I’m happy for you, Cesare,” Riccardo bites back a wistful smile, looking down at his hands as he continues, “I  _will_  miss you, though. You were the one who taught me how to be my own man. It’ll be weird, not having anyone to lean on.”  
  
“It’s the same for me,” Cesare reminds him, “When I lost Manuela, I really thought I wouldn’t be able to go on. I would’ve given up long ago if it wasn’t for you, Riccardo. I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for that.”  
  
Riccardo bites his lip – he looks almost shy – and then he meets Cesare’s eyes carefully. “You didn’t have to. I wanted to be there. It’s all I’ve ever wanted: to be important to you.”  
  
Cesare cannot remember ever seeing Riccardo so vulnerable, not even back when he was a kid. Riccardo has always been somewhat guarded with his own feelings – a result of being a professional athlete in the closet, most likely – keeping the inner layers of himself hidden even from his closest friends.  
  
Cesare does not realize what he is doing as his fingers touch Riccardo’s chin and his lips press against Riccardo’s. The kiss is chaste, hesitant. Riccardo’s lips are almost as soft as Manuela’s, from when they first kissed all those years ago.  
  
Cesare snaps back to his senses only when Riccardo parts his lips under his and returns the kiss. Cesare jerks back quickly, scooting backwards on the couch to put some distance between them.  
  
Riccardo’s mouth is still half-open and eyes are wide, filled with shock. Cesare thinks he could probably count his long eyelashes if he looked close enough. He looks away quickly.  
  
“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me. I don’t know why I did that. Sorry.”  
  
Riccardo does not answer. He has turned to look away from Cesare when the coach finally gathers enough courage to take another look at him. Riccardo’s fingertips are pressed against his lips contemplatively. His lower lip is trembling when he breathes in slowly.  
  
Cesare has never thought of Riccardo as anything else but a child who needed his guidance and then a friend who was helping Cesare through tough times. He never even imagined he could be anything more than that.  
  
But now that he looks at Riccardo, it is all there: Riccardo who never left Cesare’s side when he needed him the most, Riccardo who has always trusted Cesare more than he probably deserves, Riccardo who could never take ‘no’ for an answer from Cesare but who still never demanded anything of him – Riccardo who is much more  _beautiful_  and  _important_  than Cesare ever realized.  
  
The realization is terrifying.  
  
“You should probably leave,” Cesare says quietly, standing up and walking to the other side of the living room, removing himself away from the temptation, “You’re leaving for the training camp tonight, right? This is your big chance to show the whole world how good you are.”  
  
“I guess so,” Riccardo mumbles without meeting Cesare’s eyes as he stands up and heads towards the front door without another word.  
  
Cesare can barely hear the door closing when Riccardo leaves the apartment. For some reason the quiet sound is much more haunting than if Riccardo had slammed the door behind him.  
  
  
  
  
_June 2010_  
  
  
  
Every TV channel is showing either reruns of that last painful game against Slovakia or footage of the national team returning to Italy after their unexpected group stage exit, ashamed and exhausted.  
  
Cesare wants to switch off the TV but he cannot, because this team is now his responsibility – if he ever wishes to raise them up from this failure, he needs to see them at their worst, to understand what happened, to understand what is wrong.  
  
There is a flash of Riccardo as he walks by the camera, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. Cesare hits the off button immediately, because seeing Riccardo like that is more than he can handle.  
  
He glances at the clock on the wall – it has been hours since the plane touched down at the Malpesa Airport, so Riccardo should be home in Caravaggio by now. A small part of Cesare is hoping he would be in Florence instead, but that hope is silly, useless.  
  
They have not talked even once after Riccardo left his apartment in May, not even when Cesare’s Azzurri contract was made official. Cesare cannot blame Riccardo – he would not want to talk to himself either.  
  
The doorbell snaps him out of his thoughts and Cesare rushes to the door, his hands sweating and the sound of his pounding heart almost deafening, even though Cesare knows it cannot be, it cannot possibly be Riccardo.  
  
One look through the peephole tells him that it  _is_  Riccardo – Cesare thinks his heart might have stopped for a second at the sight of him.  
  
“Can we just skip the pleasantries?” Riccardo asks the moment Cesare opens the door and lets him in, “Because I just came back from the most horrible tournament I’ve ever experienced and I’m sick and tired of hearing everyone’s condolences when it’s a fact that we played like shit.”  
  
“Fine by me,” Cesare replies quietly as he follows Riccardo into the living room. It reminds him of the last time Riccardo was there and the memory makes him feel even worse than before.  
  
Riccardo turns to face Cesare when he reaches the middle of the room. He is pale and there are dark bags under his eyes, but there is also fierce determination in the way he meets Cesare’s eyes.  
  
“I want you,” Riccardo states simply, not shying away from Cesare’s gaze, “You told me I’d know. And I  _do_ , even if it took me years to realize it. I want it to be you, Cesare.”  
  
Cesare can do nothing but stare at Riccardo: at this boy no older than his own children, who is telling him to take a chance at love again, a chance of something completely new and unfamiliar, something he could have never imagined possible before now.  
  
“I’ve had time to think about it,” Riccardo continues when Cesare cannot find the right words to express what he is feeling. “I know it’s probably not going to work and we’ll end up regretting the whole thing. But  _you kissed me_. And I know we’ll definitely regret it if we don’t even try.”  
  
“I’m your coach,” Cesare reminds him quietly, slowly reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind Riccardo’s ear, trying to think up more reasons why this is a terrible idea, “I’m old enough to be your father. It hasn’t even been three years since I lost my wife. Not to mention I’ve never even thought about being with a man, let alone with someone I’ve known practically their whole life.”  
  
“I know all that,” Riccardo retorts – he leans into Cesare’s touch when the coach moves to caress his cheek – “I’m not going to say it doesn’t matter, because it does. But what matters the most is what we  _want_.”  
  
Manuela always used to tell him that the most important thing in life was to know what he wanted.  
  
“What do you want, Cesare?” Riccardo mouths the question at him, his eyes shining with a mix of hope and fear. Cesare’s hand is still caressing his cheek. Riccardo lifts his own hand and places it over Cesare’s, holding him there.  
  
This time Cesare is fully aware of what he is doing as he leans in and brushes his lips against Riccardo’s. The contact lasts only a second and Cesare lets out the breath he was holding as soon as he pulls back.  
  
Riccardo is looking at him with half-lidded eyes, the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip.  
  
“I never thought it’d be you,” Cesare whispers, and it is all the permission Riccardo needs to close the distance between them and catch Cesare’s lips into a proper kiss.  
  
Riccardo’s stubble feels scratchy against Cesare’s skin, the kiss is firm – urgent and demanding – and his hands slide up to caress the back of Cesare’s neck, his tall and lean body pressing up against Cesare’s.  
  
It is completely different from anything Cesare has ever experienced before, but it does not matter because this is still Riccardo – familiar, caring, beautiful Riccardo.  
  
Cesare wraps his arms around Riccardo’s waist carefully, urging him to come even closer. He opens his mouth under Riccardo’s and brushes his tongue against Riccardo’s lower lip. Riccardo lets out a small sound and pulls back, gasping for air.  
  
“Don’t do that,” Riccardo whispers when Cesare tries to lean in for another kiss, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. If we keep this up, I— I don’t want you to think I’m only doing this for sex.”  
  
“I think that should be the other way around,” Cesare notes with a chuckle and presses his forehead against Riccardo’s gently, “You can have sex anytime you like, with anyone you like. I’m the one who hasn’t been with anyone since my wife’s death, with this most beautiful young man in my arms willing to fix that.”  
  
Riccardo kisses him again. His teeth scrape against Cesare’s bottom lip before he presses his tongue between the parted lips. Cesare meets the tongue with his immediately, but allows Riccardo to set the pace.  
  
Cesare only realizes he might not be ready for this after all when Riccardo rocks his hips against him, moaning into the kiss, the shape of his erection momentarily pressed against Cesare’s abdomen.  
  
To Cesare’s surprise, the problem is not Riccardo’s gender at all – that is all part of Riccardo, and he  _wants_  Riccardo – but the fact he has never been with anyone but Manuela. Being with someone else is something new and unfamiliar, something Cesare needs time to process in his head.  
  
“I told you not to do that,” Riccardo says as he breaks the kiss, obviously aware of Cesare’s hesitation, “I want to do this right – there’s no need to rush.”  
  
His voice is trembling and cheeks flushed red from arousal, but still he releases his hold on Cesare’s neck and pulls back, pushing Cesare’s hands down from his waist.  
  
Riccardo looks embarrassed, not meeting Cesare’s eyes, glancing down at his crotch instead. Cesare’s mouth goes dry when he follows the gaze, the front of Riccardo’s jeans visibly straining over the bulge.  
  
“I think I might need a moment alone, if you don’t mind. And then I could use a nap, I haven’t slept a wink since we left South Africa.”  
  
“Wait,” Cesare says softly when Riccardo turns around, heading for the bathroom, “Let me do it for you.”  
  
He takes a hold of Riccardo’s hand and pulls him along into the bedroom, kissing his knuckles gently as they enter, “It might take a while before I’m ready to take things all the way. But I can still make you feel good. Let’s do this right – together, baby steps.”  
  
He cannot have Riccardo feeling ashamed of his own body when the actual problem is in Cesare’s mind.  
  
“Okay,” Riccardo whispers, trusting and honest. Cesare urges him to lie down on the bed before settling down next to him, pressing a gentle kiss on his lips, combing his fingers through his hair.  
  
Cesare keeps his eyes fixed on Riccardo’s face as he slides his hand down his abdomen and opens the fly of his jeans. He slips his hand into Riccardo’s pants slowly, holding his gaze with his own as he starts stroking him carefully.  
  
Riccardo’s eyes flutter closed after the first few strokes, his lips parting, taking in small gasps as Cesare finds a steady rhythm. He is so very beautiful, much more so than even the most vivid fantasies Cesare’s imagination had created during the past month.  
  
Riccardo stays absolutely still even as it becomes obvious he is nearing his climax, small whimpers escaping his lips and shivers running through his body.  
  
He opens his eyes just enough to look at Cesare through his eyelashes, a whispered “I love you” turning into a surprised moan when he stumbles over the edge. The earlier stillness is broken as he jerks his hips against Cesare’s hand instinctively before slumping down to the mattress.  
  
Cesare is startled when he realizes there are quiet tears rolling down Riccardo’s cheeks.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Riccardo breathes out before Cesare can ask what is wrong. His voice is trembling but he is smiling, an exhausted but still clearly content smile, “I just— I never thought it’d be you, either.”  
  
Cesare has nothing to say to that, so he only presses a kiss to Riccardo’s forehead, wipes away his tears, and tells him to go to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
_November 2010_  
  
  
  
Cesare is standing in front of the gravestone, well-cared-for and decorated with countless flowers of different colours. The approaching winter means the flowers will not last for long, but for today they are all blooming in memory of Manuela.  
  
It has been three years.  
  
He had come to visit the grave together with Nicólo and Carolina, an important tradition for all three of them. However, this time Cesare had felt he needed to be alone, to have a moment for just the two of them – him and Manuela – so he had sent his children back to the car ahead of him.  
  
“You can still hear me, can’t you?” he says quietly, running his fingers over the cold dark stone. They say the last sense a dying person loses is hearing – Cesare never stopped talking to her.  
  
“I’m sure you know it already, but I’ve decided to give love another shot,” he continues with a sad smile, “He’s not like you, of course. But he makes me happy. And I thought, as long as I can make him happy as well— Why not, right? All those times he was by my side, I never even realized how important he was to me… You probably knew, even back then, didn’t you? I can’t lose him now, Manuela.”  
  
He is rambling, he knows it, but at the same time he feels like he needs to explain.  
  
“I wanted him to come with us today, but we still haven’t told Nicólo or Carolina, so he thought it was best to wait. We need to look out for the press, too. But I’m sure he’ll come to visit you after finishing practice – he always does, even though he’d never admit it.”  
  
A freezing gust of wind sends shivers down Cesare’s back despite the thick coat he is wearing. It feels like a message that it is time to go home, to have dinner with his children, to hold his loved one.  
  
“I do love him,” Cesare admits quietly, answering the wordless question that has been hanging over his head since he came here, “I don’t think I’ve ever told it to him – not with those words – but he knows it. He wouldn’t still be here if he didn’t. But I’ll tell him, I promise. He deserves to hear it.”  
  
He traces the words carved onto the stone one more time, every letter that is also carved into his heart.  
  
“I still miss you, Manuela. But I’m going to make it, together with him, so you don’t need to worry about me anymore. I love you.”  
  
The heartache is still there when he walks away from the grave – a memory of a love that will never fade, an ache of a loss that cannot be healed – but now it is more of an afterthought.  
  
Because above all there is hope – a hope of new love that will only grow stronger with time.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> To those who are interested, I've also made a [timeline](https://leapangstily.dreamwidth.org/36247.html) outlining the real life premise this story is based on.  
> Feedback would be much appreciated!


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